Somewhere
by Exploded Pen
Summary: It had been raining, that much Sam remembered at least.


000 Disclaimer, I don't own Life on Mars and I make no profit from this 000 Huge thanks to The Libran Iniquity for giving this a once over and for reassurances at 1am. This was written for T'eyla for the Life On Mars Ficathon over on livejournal, the prompt was: (physical) hurt/comfort, Sam-centric, Sam/Gene friendship or slash. Warnings for swearing :) 000

It had been raining, that much Sam remembered at least, great sheets of it falling from the sky and rebounding off the pavement. It had been the kind of rain that was impossible to shield against – unless you were indoors. Sam remembered the rain, how it had started without warning during an impossibly sunny day, how his clothes had been instantly soaked through and his shoes had become squishy, wet puddles to stand in.

It wasn't raining now, but his clothes were still wet and stiff and he was pretty sure he was sat in a puddle. Either that or he'd pissed himself. He hoped it was the former, the last thing he needed was to be found sat in his own urine. Injured or not.

Sam remembered the rain, and he definitely remembered waking up, slumped against the wall, because he'd tried to move. That had been A Bad Idea. If he really stretched his memory he had the vague impression of boots and his own voice ringing in his ears as a bone snapped, a noise that had echoed like a gunshot. Trying to remember anything further just made his head throb in an ungodly manner.

He felt thick droplets sliding down from his hair, meandering over his eye and taking a lazy trail down his cheek. At least it felt warm, even if it was just one more irritation.

The other irritation was being unable to check his watch for the time. Because moving was A Bad Idea, even if he had an almost compulsive need to see what time it was, to see how long he had been outside, to see how long it had been, to help calculate the odds of Gene and the others speeding up in the Cortina. It didn't even matter that trying to think hurt he just had to know.

Sam sighed, then groaned as several somethings pulled. It didn't matter. Even if by some miracle of willpower he managed to muster his aching, bruised, stiff muscles into action, he'd still have to open his eyes and make his blurry vision focus.

_What the hell had happened?_

Why hadn't anyone found him yet? Perhaps he hadn't been gone that long. He'd been walking ... somewhere – Christ what the hell had he been doing?!

The sound of giggling and feet gently pounding against the pavement reached his ears. Sam inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to whimper as something in his chest throbbed painfully. "Hello?" he called pathetically; it came out as a whisper. Sam coughed, groaned, and tried again. "Hello?"

The sound of giggling cut off abruptly and the footsteps padded closer. Sam opened his eyes with more than a little effort and squinted at his blurry surroundings, hoping everything would swim into focus.

Two small purple and blue blobs were stood in front of him.

"Tom, he's bleedin'," a voice whispered. A girl.

"Mister, you alright?" the boy asked – Tom perhaps?

Sam blinked slowly. "Help."

The purple blob shuffled from side to side nervously. "Tom, I wanna go home."

"Tilly, shut it will yer!" Tom snapped. He took a step closer to Sam. "I'm gonna get someone, me mam'll help. It'll be alright."

The blue blob – Tom – moved swiftly away, grabbing hold of the purple blob – Tilly – and hurrying off. Sam waited for a few seconds till the sound of footsteps died away and then closed his eyes. His vision hadn't focused; he hadn't been able to see anything to ascertain where exactly he was. His current breadth of knowledge consisted of knowing he'd been beaten, he was propped up against a wall, moving was A Bad Idea, and that two kids called Tom and Tilly had appeared and then disappeared – hopefully for help.

Sam resisted the urge to sigh heavily, and wondered if he had some latent masochistic streak buried deep in his subconscious that was coming out to play.

Without warning a muscle in his leg twitched jarring the broken bone and sending ricochets of pain racing up his leg. It was like dominoes falling. The agony in his leg made his entire body shift and suddenly his ribs were singing, his right hand and all his fingers joining in in a discordant harmony, his shoulder thrumming along in perfect time and his head a thumping rhythm against the trill of bruised flesh.  
Several gasping, weeping, screaming moments followed.

It felt like years before the agony faded out in a slow, so fucking slow, diminuendo to the residual levels of pain felt prior to the muscle twitch.

Moving was **A Bad Idea**.

After a few moments spent concentrating on the difficult task of breathing Sam's addled thoughts wandered. Did Gene know he was gone? Maybe he'd been gone for days and Gene had had everyone scouring the city for his whereabouts. Those kids should've raised the alarm by now surely? Any minute the Cortina would roar to a halt nearby followed closely by the sirens of an ambulance.

A small part of him whispered worriedly at the back of his mind about the state of medical care in 1973. The larger part of him yelled for morphine.

The sound of footsteps returned, heavier this time. They seemed to get closer then stopped. "Shit," Sam heard a voice mutter with feeling. There was a noise that sounded like the speaker had stumbled followed by the swift, heavy pound of feet running away.

Bastard. It was probably too much to hope the git had gone for help.

Another thick, heavy droplet took a lazy path down Sam's face. Huh, maybe it wasn't rain.

He was beaten, broken, and probably sitting in his own piss with a possibly bleeding head wound. Some bastard had seen him and legged it, and he was relying on some kids to raise the alarm. But on the bright side it wasn't raining.

One of his muscles twitched. Pain ricocheted through his system, and between one gasping, wheezing breath and the next a little voice in Sam's head went _fuck this_. He passed out.

_"Jesus Christ, Sam -"_

"It'll be alright, Sam, it'll be alright ye –"

"- he been out here?"

"Fuckers!"

"If those tossers aren't here with that f-"

"- don't you dare di –"

It took several minutes for Sam to regain consciousness. He hovered lazily on the edge of full awareness, listening to the echo of sound around him and the feeling of dulled pain. A hospital then. It took a few more minutes for him to successfully open his eyes. Sam's vision swam for a moment before everything cleared.

Gene was sat beside his bed, his feet propped up on the bedside cabinet, coat off, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie hanging loose and a small mountain of empty plastic cups littering the area around him.

Sam blinked slowly, taking in the details and filing them away for future reference when his senses were less dulled by pain medication. Gene looked up as Sam watched him.

"About time you woke up," said Gene staring at him. "You feelin' alright?"

Sam rolled his head to the side and winced as the dull pain flared. "'m great," he forced out.

Gene nodded slowly, his expression didn't change. "The quack says you'll be back to your whining, poncing self and ready to come back in a month or so."

A month? Sam groaned.

Gene looked away from Sam and casually flicked one of the plastic cups. Sam watched as it hit the wall and rebounded off beneath the bed.

Sam licked his lips. "How long was I gone?" he asked hoarsely.

"Two days." Gene kicked his feet off the cabinet and crossed his legs. "Possibly three." He fixed Sam with a piercing look. "What do you remember?"

Sam stared at him. "Rain," he said eventually. "Boots. Bone snapping." He sighed in frustration, wincing as the dull pain flared a little. "Nothing useful." He licked his lips again, trying to get some moisture back in his mouth.

Gene nodded again. "Took a few blows to the head, probably knocked out what little sense you had left." An odd look passed across his face. "We found the bastards who did it – found 'em after they'd dumped you." He flexed his fingers and scowled. "They weren't very forth coming with information."

An uneasy feeling settled low in Sam's gut.

"Couple of kids, playin' where they shouldn't, found you and raised the alarm," Gene continued.

"I remember them," Sam interrupted. Two small blobs: one purple, one blue. What were their names? Tom and, and...Tilly. Tom and Tilly. Huh. Seemed like the man that came after had just buggered off and left him. Git.

Gene looked up sharply. "I thought you said you didn't remember anything."

"Anything useful." Sam slowly moved his head, trying to settle it in a more comfortable position.

"Good." The word was uttered so softly Sam almost missed it. The uneasy feeling in his gut kicked up a notch. Sam gave Gene a careful once over, squinting at the older man, and noticing the dried blood on his shirt, the bruised knuckles and the dark stains on trousers – probably more blood. Sam's blood?

"None of 'em would talk," said Gene, staring at a point just above Sam's head. "Just kept mouthin' off about what they'd done. They wouldn't tell us where they'd dumped you." His gaze fell down to rest on Sam again. "If you remember anything, you tell me straight off."

Sam nodded slowly. "Will you tell me, if I don't?"

Gene flexed his fingers again and ignored him.

Sam watched him, unable to look away, his gaze travelled from the bruised knuckles round the bloody stains on Gene's clothes. "That mine?" he asked quietly.

Gene followed his stare and shrugged. "Most of it." He flexed his fingers.

"Gene." Sam watched as Gene fixed a stare on him again. "What did you do?"

Gene rose to his feet, several joints popped. "I should tell the nurses you've finally decided to join the land of the living." He turned as if to leave the small room.

"Gene," Sam hesitated as the man glanced back. "Thanks."

Gene stared at him for a long moment. He snorted. "Enjoy the bed rest, Doris." And then he was gone.

000 Let me know your thoughts :) 000


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